


Bluebonnets and Depression Glass

by ljs



Series: the Deep Ellum stories [8]
Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-31
Updated: 2015-10-31
Packaged: 2018-04-29 05:56:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5117909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ljs/pseuds/ljs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Deep Ellum story; AU after "Selfless" and "Dead End"; within the 'verse, from before "Outside Deep Ellum" to roughly 9 years later.</p><p>Three times Lindsey McDonald met Winifred Burkle.</p><p>Written in 2011.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bluebonnets and Depression Glass

The first time Lindsey McDonald met Winifred Burkle, he was miserable.

The Blind One had sent him to Los Angeles, a city he'd been goddamn sure he'd never visit again, to consult with Angel about an apocalypse. Seeing the Vamp with the Lowering Brow --which name Spike had passed to Giles, who'd passed it to Lindsey-- had been a painful-sweet moment, one repeated as they'd had to try to work together on this stupid world-ending thing. Lindsey had been fighting old yearnings, old lusts, until --

One lunchtime, where he'd ventured into the Hyperion before Angel's rising time. Instead, a nervous, coltish, gorgeous woman had sat eating a taco at the front desk. She'd looked up, and smiled, and said, "Hey, can I help y'all?" And Lindsey had felt home, and love, and ease for the first time since he'd got that westbound plane.

He hadn't pursued it, what with darkness on the Hollywood Hills and her evident personal link to Charles Gunn. But they'd sat in the courtyard one afternoon and talked of bluebonnets, and it had steadied him enough to stay grey, to do the job the Blind One had needed him to do, and to get the fuck out of L.A.

The second time Lindsey McDonald met Winifred Burkle, he was more miserable.

This apocalypse was real, the Blind One said, and sent poor old Lindsey off with an amulet and an instruction to be helpful. Helpful. The great being had no idea what he was asking, what pain he was causing in his faithful lawyer.

The Blind One didn't know about those pas de deux between Lindsey and Angel, the forearm across the throat, the thrill in all too human blood. Or maybe he did. Maybe he knew, and thought Lindsey was strong enough to resist. That was the worst thought of all.

But one night in the midst of the madness, just before Lindsey fled Los Angeles for good (seriously. For fuckin' good), he and Fred went out for margaritas at a bad Mexican restaurant on Beverly. They sat in a corner, and held hands, and talked about anything but apocalypse. College football, even though God help her, she was a Red Raider; the feel of a Lone Star bottle in your fingers; the sight of the first Texas wildflowers along a backroad, the flutter of them as you went by. She had asked about his family, and he had shown her a photo taken there where he felt at home, just outside Deep Ellum -- with Giles and Anya, and dear Ruth who was next to a sister, and Terrence who didn't want to be that close to Lindsey actually, and the Blind One unseen but there all the same.

At the end of their time, as the sunset fell across a Pacific you couldn't see from the depths of the stink, Lindsey had kissed Fred once on the corner of her mouth. It wasn't enough, the sweetness of her; it was all he could hope for. "You ever need me, darlin', you come to Dallas. I'll do what I can for you," he said, and breathed in goodness, and then walked away.

The third time Lindsey McDonald saw Winifred Burkle, years later, he was home enjoying a rainy April night, watching the sky turn the shade of green which meant storm. He had nowhere to go, nothing to do--

And then the knock on the door, and then the opening.

She stood there, half-soaked, half-mad, clutching a fistful of bluebonnets. "Do you remember me?" she asked.

"Yeah," he said, and wrapped his fist around her and wildflowers, and smiled. "Come in, Fred. Do come in."

...................

Fred sat where Lindsey had put her, bluebonnets half-crushed in her hands, and tried to breathe.

She hadn't stopped running since San Antone, except for that moment she'd pulled over on the side of I-35 and plucked the wildflowers and cried for the first time since she'd seen her childhood home destroyed. Mom and Dad were safe at Grandma's, but the mindless earth-killers Angel had unleashed by accident hadn't cared a bit for walls or memories or...

"Here, baby," Lindsey said, recalling her to this nice safe kitchen. "You want tea or somethin'? Or a drink?"

She looked up into the sweetest-bad smile she'd ever seen. The first time he'd flashed it, she'd all but forgotten Charles and Wesley and apocalypse (not that Charles and Wesley were causes of that or any other apocalypse, of course, 'cept that one with the Vancouver Hellmouth and evil Santa Claus that dear Wes was still apologizing for). She'd been sitting there with taco sauce all over her fingers, there in the Hyperion, and for a second she'd thought that this bad boy was just going to walk on over and lick it off, and for a second she'd thought she'd let him.

But then they'd had that conversation about flowers and home, sitting in the shade of a desert afternoon with the smell of cold and sea underneath them, and she knew then and now he was so much more than a sweet-bad smile.

"Fred?" he prompted now.

"Oh. Tea'd be good, thank you."

He moved to the counter. He had an electric kettle like Wesley had. As he filled it at the tap, he said over his shoulder, "I'm glad to see you, of course, Fred, but... what brings you to Dallas?"

She loosened her hold on the bluebonnets, played with the stems. "We got problems in San Antonio. Angel was there on some vampire-and-Watcher business, trying to smoke out a major player in yet another world-ending deal, and..."

The water cut off. "Our Champion all right?" Lindsey said in a funny voice.

"Oh, yes. Yes, I'm sorry, I should have said that right off. He and Charles are fine, and Wes and Faith are fine, it's just... I'm apparently not safe there. The monsters have gotten my scent, or something."

She closed her eyes on a flash of a dark shape picking through the ruins of her parents' house, on a flash of dark shapes further back in a dimension far from the home she didn't have.

"Fred, sweetheart."

He was there when she opened her eyes, crouched down so he wasn't looming over her. His hands came to her knees, steadying himself, and she felt a small joy in the touch. She hurried past that -- "So, anyway, sorry, Angel said that Dallas was the place for me. He said somethin' about your Blind One, and Giles and Anya whom I've only met that one time, but..." She took a deep breath. "I remembered you, and I thought, I know him. He's where I should be."

God, he had the sweetest-bad smile, deep as night, safe as the memory of home. "And you're right," he said. Then he took her hand and kissed her fingers. Small joy, growing bigger all the time. "Now I'll just fix you some of the magic tea my friend Anya puts up, and you'll come sit with me in the living room, and everything's going to be all right."

The kettle began to make that I'm-ready noise, louder than her thank-you, and he caressed her palm with his callused guitar-player index finger and then let go.

She closed her eyes again. There was more magic here than just some old tea, and yes, everything was going to be all right.

..........

He needed some of Anya's tea more than Fred did, Lindsey thought.

The more he looked at her, shivering hands around the hot mug, wounded eyes darker than the storm outside, the more he wanted to call in dark favours he'd let ride from a previous life. Poor bruised woman didn't deserve any more hell.

Angel. Angel should goddamn pay for this.

When the phone rang, Fred jolted so badly that the tea sloshed out over her fingers. "Oh, no, I'm so sorry--"

"Don't you even think about worrying about that," Lindsey said. He would have gone to the kitchen to get her a kitchen towel or something, but he thought she might not want to be alone. So he passed his hand over her damp, tangled hair, which he had been wanting to do since she walked in, and then picked up the phone. Caller ID said 'Giles'--

Who barely waited for Lindsey's hello before saying sharply, "Did Fred Burkle reach you?"

"Yep. She's here, safe and sound and drinking Anya's tea." Lindsey brushed his knuckle over Fred's cheekbone before he could think about what he was doing. Her skin warmed, went all rosy, under his touch. He had to concentrate: "You need me to do anything?"

Anya said something in the background, chiming with Giles' sigh of relief. Then Giles said, "Right. Anya says the tea is the best thing possible -- and I'd suggest a quick refreshment of your wards, if you can manage it. If you can't, Anya and I can pop over and do it for you."

"No, I got it." He took a breath. "What's being done about this shit?"

"Wesley, Gunn, and Angel are planning something now," Giles said tersely. "The Blind One has been consulted, and is, er, agreeable to their plan. But he wants you to be sure to maintain the wards, lest something go awry."

"'Cause of that damned Angel."

"Yes." It was always a surprise to hear just how cold Giles' voice could get. Lindsey felt their odd bond of friendship strengthen just a little more -- always good to find someone who despised Angel as much as he did, not that ol' Giles had the other current of connection to Angel that Lindsey did.

"Lindsey?" Fred said hesitantly. "Is anything wrong?"

The sight of her face, wounded but trusting, hurt something fierce. He brushed her cheekbone again, said to Giles, "You let me know what else I can do, yeah? 'Cause I'm taking care of Fred for the duration."

She smiled at that, and the knot of hatred in Lindsey's throat loosened.

After he clicked off the phone, he stood watching her for a minute. Then, "You want to lie down, darlin'? I've got a spare room ready for you, or--"

A crash of Texas springtime thunder took his next words. The lights flickered, the wind howled, the storm was overhead.

She didn't jolt this time. Instead she reached out and grabbed his hand. "Lindsey? Do you have a good place to watch the storm?"

"Come with me," he said, and linked fingers with her. She was softer, warmer, stronger than he'd expected.

So they went to the sliding glass door that led to his deck. Outside, the birdbath seemed to boil with the wind and rain, and the plants Giles and Anya had given him twisted and danced. It was very, very dark outside.

But he could see her focus now, see her willing herself back together as she stared out at the storm. She didn't need as much protection as he thought; she just needed respite. Not exactly his best thing, but he'd give it a hell of a shot.

Then, as thunder and lightning made jagged music in the sky, she turned to him, said, "I am so glad I came here tonight," and kissed him. Soft, warm, stronger than he'd expected.

Somewhere inside, he felt his wards fall. Goddamnit.

...........................

Kissing Lindsey was like biting into a dark-chocolate mint, Fred thought-- all chilly warmth, deeper than ordinary kisses, more satisfying.

She'd always been able to stop after a chocolate mint or two, though, and she had a shaky feeling that stopping this would be harder.

But he took charge, hands to her face in the way she liked best, fingertips teasing over her cheekbones while his tongue teased hers. Then he softened the kiss, and then he pulled back.

Lightning-flash outside showed him not quite smiling. "Winifred Burkle, what am I goin' to do with you?"

"In what way?" she said, sort of dizzily.

That was one sweet-bad smile he had, yes. Mercy. She felt even dizzier.

"Don't you go tempting me, now, darlin'. I'm just awful at resisting temptation." His hands left her face and dived into his pockets. She'd have felt lost for a second, except he was still smiling. "You've had a hard day. Let me just show you to the spare room and have you rest a while. I'll make sure you're safe, all right?"

She wanted to protest, but her knees went all funny at that point -- because yes, she'd had a hell of a day, because of monsters roaming around out there, because of good memories gone and bad memories getting stronger. He caught her before she could fall all the way, then he swept her up and took off down a hallway lit by an old-fashioned nightlight. He kicked open a door with his boot, went into a room smelling of potpourri, and laid her down on a narrow bed.

"Here you go," he said softly. "This is a safe room. You'll sleep easy under my friend Ruth's quilt -- she's a dream-catchin' girl, but she only keeps the good ones."

"Lindsey--"

"You just rest, okay?" His hand brushed across her forehead, in a gesture that should have reminded her of her parents' nighttime rituals but didn't quite. "You're a warrior, Fred, that I know. But even warriors need time to breathe." He went to the door before throwing her another smile over his shoulder. "Bathroom's through that door, but I'd stay out of the tub until the lightning stops. Don't need to call more trouble than we've already got."

She'd have apologized, but he was already gone.

Still shaky, she looked around the room. It was so pretty, sunshine-yellow in the light from one small bedside lamp, with two walls of shelving filled with books and old glassware like Grandma Noreen collected. Depression glass, they called it -- because of when it was made, not because of the feelings it carried. Lindsey kept it in the spare room, though, which struck her as odd. When she'd asked about his family, years ago in Los Angeles, he'd only shown her a picture of his Deep Ellum family. If this glass was inherited, it must have come from a time he didn't want to think about most days.

The image of her own family home, monster-touched, crushed under the weight of evil, rose in her mind. But she caught up a bit of Lindsey's friend's quilt in her fingers, wrapped it around her hand, made herself think of protection.

Thunder. She started counting then, breathing and counting until the flash. Five seconds, too close.

Monsters in the depths, coming from safe ground, coming to get her....

Her fearful thoughts stopped with the slam of a door -- front door, just down the hall. She went to the window and pushed back the lace curtains so she could see the monster coming indeed.

But what she saw, there in the storm, was Lindsey. He carried a hurricane lamp, let it swing in the gusts as he paced the border of his front yard. She couldn't hear him over the wind and rain, but his mouth was moving.

She felt the oddest warmth at her heart. Whether it was from Anya Jenkins' magic tea or his sweet protectiveness, she couldn't say. The warmth was enough to take her through her washing up and for slipping naked under the sheets and quilt, enough to let her drift into sleep.

She woke an hour later. Storm had died, and there was just the Dallas city-hum underlying everything. No. There was one thing more.

Lindsey was nearby. He was singing, soft and warm, an old blues song about the light. Smiling, she sank back into sleep--

Until at the coldest, darkest hour, the hour before dawn, the phone rang in the other room. Stirring, she heard a murmur, and then Lindsey's voice saying "Shit," and then, "Right away, boss. We'll be there soon as we can."

...................

"Fred, darlin', we need to get going," Lindsey said. After a quick knock on the door, he opened it just enough to see... Well, the light might be dim, but Miss Fred was buck-naked underneath the quilt.

Lindsey, who might have been raised to be a gentleman but forgot often enough to make the ghost of his sainted mother rise up in protest, took an extra second or two before averting his gaze. He did like the subtlety of a slender woman sometimes, liked even better the memory of her pressed against him last night... No, he told himself firmly. NO.

After clearing his throat and his lustful mind, he said, "Sorry about that. Anyway, the Blind One wants us to go see him."

Without losing her grip on the bedclothes, she shook back her hair. "Did... did Angel and them not get the monsters?"

"No, they did. But apparently those San Antone monsters have cousins in the metroplex." He smiled. "Boss wants to do some mojo to neutralize them. Even better, afterward Anya's going to make pancakes. I hear you like those."

"How'd you.... No, I don't want to know." Her blush and her bowed head did strange things to him. When she looked up and held his gaze, however, he remembered how damn strong she really was. She said, "Pancakes will be great, Lindsey. But I need to get dressed so we can go."

Lord, Lord, despite the need for haste he was still standing in the doorway, gaping like a woman-struck fool. He blamed his evil hand for its death-grip on the doorknob. Resolutely he closed the door -- safe on the other side from her -- and let go.

While he threw on a clean shirt and tied his hair back -- he'd let it grow too long for a respectable lawyer, he should cut it one of these days -- he thought about that love of pancakes. Angel had dropped the info in one of his reminiscent moods that Fred and her old love Gunn had been pretty crazy about sharing flapjacks. Lindsey figured that Gunn had probably just been crazy about Miss Fred. He bet she would just take a man that way.

When she came into the kitchen, all dressed and smelling of the jasmine guest soap that Anya gave him every Christmas Solstice Kwanzaa What-the-hell-ever, he knew she would.

Hand steady even so, he finished pouring the crystals of protection Giles had recommended into the thin vase he'd already chosen and then put in the bluebonnets Fred had carried the night before. "Here, darlin'. You carry this on the ride."

"You saved them," she said.

"Saved what I could. Got to keep the best of what we've got."

She smiled. "Like that vase? Depression glass, isn't it?"

He looked down. His grandmother's favourite green vase gleamed at him -- why he'd picked that one, he had no goddamn idea, except that Fred reminded him of her. "Depression glass, yeah. Grandma McDonald's. Anyway, shall we get goin'?"

He'd planned to drive his legal-eagle BMW, but in the garage she went straight to his beloved old pickup. "This is sure a pretty truck," she said, "you've taken good care of her," and smoothed her hand over the door before she climbed in.

Lord, Lord. He'd better never let her know he'd tried to hurt Angel at least once with that very truck. She'd know then he wasn't good enough for the likes of her -- which was true even after his attempts at reformation, but he'd prefer she find that out in her own sweet time.

Not even that bitter thought could spoil the beginning of their drive, though. Sunrise was still half an hour away, the sky in the east going a soft blue. He knew a spell or two that could zip them down the Central Expressway even at morning rush hour, and she looked deliciously pretty, dreaming over the bluebonnets as they sped past the commuters stuck in their places.

He was so enjoying the drive with her, in fact, that it was entirely his fault that he didn't notice the headlights coming close up behind them until the vehicle's bumper kissed the back of his truck.

..............

The jolt from behind woke Fred from the happy daze she'd been in.

"What--"

"Goddamnit!" Lindsey glanced in the rearview mirror, said something like "Cocksucking son-of-a-bitching shit" under his breath, and then said calmly, "Fred, sweetheart, can you get my cellphone and punch in 1?"

Blam. This time the hit from the following car was much harder.

She made the mistake of looking back. In the monster truck behind them were... well, monsters, slope-shouldered earth-mouthed killers like the ones Angel had accidentally awakened in San Antonio. She tasted fear and dirt at the sight of them filling the cab, darkening the glass.

But she wouldn't allow herself to stay in that fear. She caught up Lindsey's cell and punched 1, just like he'd asked.

Lindsey had both hands on the wheel, eyes ahead on the road, mouth grim. She figured it was her job to be the communicator--

"Hullo, McDonald," said a gorgeous English voice. Rupert Giles, yes, she'd met him and his Anya one time when they'd come down to Houston to help when Angel and all had been tearing up a nasty bunch of vampires who'd gotten off some South American tanker in the Ship Channel.

"Sorry, it's Fred. Fred Burkle? We've got--"

"We got a situation, Giles," Lindsey said loudly. Blam. One more hit from behind. "Earth-killers on our trail."

"Right," Giles said. "How far away, Lindsey?"

Lindsey was very busy muscling the truck over white speedbumps and onto an off-ramp, but over the sound of the horn from the Mercedes he’d just faked onto the shoulder, he shouted, "Four minutes! I'll bring 'em in front of Blind Willie's!"

"Brilliant. We'll be ready. You two be careful," Giles said, and then clicked off.

The monster truck had followed them, but a bump from that Mercedes had slowed them down some. Lindsey went through a yellow light -- well, what her dad would have called orange --and then grinned over at her. "You okay, darlin'?"

"Just drive, darlin'," she said, and put one hand on the dashboard to brace herself. In her other hand she cradled his vase. The crystals, all blue pink purple stones protected by green, glowed like anything, and the bluebonnets gleamed with the illusion of dew.

A few minutes from sunrise, monsters on their tail, yet for some stupid reason she grinned right back at him.

................

Lindsey in the ordinary way did love a car chase. This, however, wasn't even a mile from ordinary --not when he was the pursued, not the pursuer; not when he had precious cargo like Winifred Burkle in his passenger seat.

The woman was smiling at him like the sun coming up, and he vowed silently that he would make sure she'd keep that smile.

Then he hit the gas and went through a red light, narrowly missing the Caddy coming straight for his side. In a hail of honking they made another turn, the wrong way down a one-way street. One more block to go, and then the last turn.

Fred looked over her shoulder. She was scared -- hands trembling, pale behind the smile -- but she was holding it together. "Still coming," she said. "Half a block away."

"Perfect," he breathed, and then spun the wheel hard. Tires squealed, but his old girl kept going.

He could see Giles and Dawn on the street in front of Blind Willie's. They had just finished chalking the protective circle he'd have bet fifty bucks they'd make. Anya and Terrence held the outside of the circle, Anya bouncing on her toes as she waved at them.

"There's my family," he said, "you can trust 'em with your life," then when Fred looked over, he said, "Hold on, sugar."

Brakes. Wheel, hold it, hold it --

And they power-slid into the circle and stopped. The magic soared all around them, bright as sunrise, twice as strong.

"Oh, yes," Fred whispered.

His truck had made a 180, so the monster truck was coming head-on. She reached over and caught his hand -- which was damp with sweat, a little embarrassing, but he linked fingers regardless.

Giles, his fedora pushed back on his forehead so that the sunrise caught his glasses, stepped in front of Lindsey's truck. He clasped Anya's hand in his right hand, and with his left, raised his swordstick-cane and pointed it at the monster truck. "You shall not pass, creatures of dark earth."

From overhead -- from the Blind One's windows, Lindsey thought -- poured a river of light. It fell to the end of Giles's cane and then out, out, rushing like a river indeed.

And then there was the most unholy noise, and Lindsey found himself laughing, found himself bringing Fred’s hand to his lips.

"What'd I tell you," he said through his laughter, "trust 'em with your life," and then kissed her palm, and the sun rose all the way.

...........

"Thank you, Anya," Fred said, accepting the cup of coffee that her hostess was pressing on her.

Her shakes had mostly stopped, once she'd seen the earth-killers in the monster truck slump into the dirt from which they'd come. The magic from Giles and the Blind One (whom she still hadn't met, but whose shuttered windows she could see from Giles and Anya's apartment) had kind of been like a shovel cutting off the monsters' snakish heads and power.

Then big handsome Terrence had opened the passenger door of Lindsey's truck and said, "Miss Fred? May I help you out?" and Lindsey had let go of her, smiling. But he hadn't gone far.

Her gaze went from him, leaning so nonchalant on the counter over in the kitchen while he talked to Giles and Dawn Summers, to the vase with the bluebonnets she'd put on the windowsill for safekeeping.

Anya --so early-morning bright, Fred thought, so efficient-- followed the gaze. "Oh, those are pretty!" She touched the blossoms with a delicate finger, called even more light to gild the blue. "Rupert's got some in his annual bed --in his rooftop garden? He grows all sorts of good things up there." Her eyes sharpened, but not in an unkind way. "Maybe you'd like to go up there for a minute with Lindsey, breathe a bit, while I get the pancake fixings together."

Fred thought about her own mad, storm-tossed scramble to collect the wildflowers on her drive yesterday, her need to reclaim good earth from her terrors. And Lindsey, taking care of her and her treasures --"Y'all have been so kind. I'd like that, thanks."

Anya patted her shoulder. "Of course you would. Also, you'll avoid the argument Rupert and I will be sure to have about the consistency of the batter, he's so annoying about that."

Fred couldn't repress a smile. These two.... As he'd escorted Fred up the stairs from Anya's shop to the flat, Giles had whispered that he'd make sure the batter was properly prepared, because his darling Anya had a propensity for too-thick hotcakes. Then he'd absently caressed Anya's shoulder as she'd hurtled past him.

But Anya broke into Fred's thoughts with a brisk, "You're not at all Lindsey's usual type. Types. That's an excellent sign, I think!"

"Sign--"

"You'll overlook the slightly evil hand, right? 'Cause he tries to compensate, he really does. Points for effort." Anya nodded, then whirled around and sped over to where Lindsey stood. Fred couldn't hear what Anya whispered to him, but she sure could see the way his smile changed his face. It was a true smile, not like the ones he'd given her those first times in Los Angeles.

And it was even more gorgeous up close, as he walked up and offered his arm in a courtly way. "Anya says you'd like to see Giles's garden. Let's take your coffee and get some air, sweetheart."

The way to the roof was a curved wrought-iron staircase. Lindsey's boots made the iron sing as they went. Fred almost thought she could dance to the tune.

Maybe she would. Yes, maybe she would.

...............

Giles's garden shone in the morning light. Lindsey took a deep breath and caught lavender and good earth and the clean floral scent that was Fred.

The combination, so sweet and rich, made him feel his past mistakes and darkness like a scratch in the throat, a weight in the gut. He shouldn't be so close to her.

But even as he intended to step away, seriously sent the message to his limbs to stop crowding her, she stepped even closer. Oh, the lines of her in the morning, the glow of her, the smile.

"Lindsey," she said, "I just haven't thanked you yet for all you've done. I show up like I did last night, no warning, no call--"

"You can show up on my doorstep any old time." He tried to edge away, but she followed. Oh, Lord, had she thought he was kidding when he'd said he was awful at temptation? Because it was the honest truth, not that honesty and he were natural partners, and....

"You're so nice," she said.

"No, darlin', I'm really not."

Her smile, just a little quirk, made him remember that she was a bright, highly educated woman, one who could understand both the physics of the universe and the twists of one foolish man's guilt. "For relative values of nice," she said. "A man who keeps his grandma's Depression glass can't be all bad."

"Not all bad, but pretty near."

"Oh, hush. You're just bragging now, and your Blind One wouldn't waste his time on you if it were so." She stepped closer, her gaze trained on his. A man could drown in those brown eyes of hers. She smiled again, stronger, even smarter. "May I thank you?"

He swallowed. "You do what you gotta do, honey."

"All right."

Before she took the last step, though, there was a commotion on the street below. They couldn't see, but a familiar voice called up to them. "Fred! Fred, is that you?"

Lindsey's heart twisted --"Angel. Sounds like our Champion's come to collect you."

She didn't move.

Lindsey cleared his throat. "Sorry, we'll probably need to go down. Vampire-Champion can't loiter in the sunshine, and ol' Giles refuses to invite him into the apartment, even though he can get in the shop, and...."

"Would you just stop?" she said, laughing, and just like she'd done last night during the storm, she kissed him.

There was only so much temptation he could resist. He opened his mouth to her tongue, let her in. She made a happy noise and wrapped one arm around his waist. With the other hand, she untied his hair. All of him fell into her hold.

The third time Lindsey McDonald met Winifred Burkle was the one that counted.

.............................


End file.
